Secrets I Have Held in My Heart
by flythruflames
Summary: I was cold to him, nasty even. I acted like there was nothing I wanted to do less than spend time with him. But every night, I would fantasize about him. Originally written for Prompts in Panem, March 2014, Day 3.


I decided I hated Peeta Mellark the first day I met him.

A fat settlement check from the mining company after my father's accidental death gave my mother the opportunity to move our family out of the rough area we were living in. We left the neighborhood I was born in, left behind beloved friends and family, as well as a berth of memories. We moved into a cookie-cutter house in a quaint cul-de-sac, complete with white picket fence and tire swing hanging from the tree, two days before I started sixth grade.

I first noticed him as we were moving boxes from the truck into our new home. He was playing in the front lawn next door with a golden puppy, his laughter ringing throughout the quiet cul-de-sac. The puppy pounced on his chest and started licking his face, and his laughter grew even louder.

"Peeta!" a stern voice called out. His mother, an austere, severe-looking woman, poked her head out of the front door. "Get inside now!"

He sighed and gathered the puppy in his arms in order to make his way inside. That's when he noticed me.

He looked at me with curious blue eyes for a moment before his face split into a brilliant smile. He waved at me excitedly.

I scowled.

His face fell a bit, but quickly recovered. A half-smile graced his lips before he went inside.

Yes, I decided. I hated him.

* * *

The first day at my new school was just as bad as I thought it would be. Teachers and students alike tittered in excitement when they noticed me, the new kid, but quickly realized that I was not interested in getting to know any of them, never mind make friends.

I sat alone in the cafeteria at lunch, despite several offers from other kids who seemed to want to get to know me. I shook my head them, turning them down one by one.

I liked to be alone. I didn't have to deal with people if I was by myself. People wouldn't leave me if they never got to know me in the first place.

I sat there, playing with the food my mom packed for me that morning, when I felt a shadow in front of me, and the thump of someone sitting down across from me.

I looked up to see the eyes of the same boy from the other day, with the puppy. His eyes were bright and happy. I narrowed my own.

"Hi!" he said excitedly. "I'm Peeta. You moved in next door, right?"

I didn't want to respond, I really didn't. I hated him, but there was something about him that compelled me to say something in return.

I settled for a curt nod.

If I was being rude, he didn't seem to notice. He began to gush about how excited he was to have new neighbors, especially one his own age because everyone in the neighborhood was old and boring, particularly his own brothers who were in high school and didn't have time for a sixth grade baby like him. He spoke a mile a minute, and I could only blink in return.

He paused then and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry! I never asked about you. Why did you guys move here? Do you like it?"

My heart sunk and my eyes filled with tears. I didn't want to tell him about my father. I didn't want him to pity me. But the words came out anyway.

"My dad died," I said quietly, looking down at my food. "My mom wanted to move out of our old neighborhood. Too many memories."

Silence. Probably scared him off, I rationalized. That was okay though, because then I could go back to being alone. Alone was good.

I cautioned a look, through my thick, dark fringe, to see his face. He looked sad, but his gaze held no pity. He rummaged through his lunch bag to pull out a cookie, beautifully decorated, and held it out to me.

"I know it isn't much," he said apologetically. "But I'm sorry. And I want you to know that I'm glad you moved in next door. I think we could be good friends," he said quickly.

I blinked.

He continued to hold the cookie out, cheeks touched with pink.

I took it from him, our fingers brushing together. I quickly dropped my hand, shocked from the jolt I felt.

I regarded his wide eyes with my own narrowed grey ones before speaking.

"Okay," I decided. "Let's be friends."

His responding grin was brilliant.

* * *

And friends we were. From then on we spent every day together. I would go with him to his family's bakery, where we would make cookies together for my family. We rode our bikes throughout our neighborhood together, played with his dog, and even had sleepovers. I taught him about archery, and would take him to the spot in the woods where my father would set up a makeshift target against a tree for me to practice on. It took him a while to get the hang of it, but I didn't mind. I liked teaching him.

He became my best friend.

Middle school ended, a whirlwind of playing outside until it got dark, whispering together until our mothers scolded us and told us to go to bed, and video-gaming until our eyes couldn't stand it anymore.

High school wasn't as different as I thought it would be. He became serious about wrestling, and I took up track. I liked being able to channel my negative emotions, the anger and residual sadness from my father's death, into pumping muscle and an accelerated heart rate. Despite our athletic and academic commitments, our friendship stayed the same. We still had lunch together every day and hung out with each other after school. Spending time with him continued to be the best part of my day.

One day after track practice, however, I began to see him in a new light. It was tenth grade, and I had just finished running the 400m, beating my own record time. I was resting, gulping water on the bench, when a girl approached me. Her name was Jackie. I knew her vaguely and she was nice enough, but I didn't make a habit of spending time with her.

"You're friends with Peeta Mellark, right?"

I nodded briefly, taking another sip of water in my mouth.

"Do you know if he has a girlfriend?" she asked, shyly.

I choked on my water.

After my coughing fit subsided, I looked at her warily. She was pretty enough, I supposed. Red hair and bright green eyes. Full lips. A cute nose. A toned, feminine figure.

She wasn't good enough.

I looked at her distastefully, before shaking my head. Her face lit up for a moment, excitement shining in her eyes.

I couldn't give her hope, though.

"He doesn't really have time for one," I said, false sympathy coating my voice, and her face fell. "Between wrestling, school, and work…I'd feel bad for any girl who had to date him. He wouldn't have time for her," I said, my grey eyes boring into her sad green ones. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Sorry," I simpered. "I just don't want your feelings to get hurt later."

She seemed to believe me, because she offered me a small, but genuine smile.

"It's okay," she said sadly. "Thanks for being honest with me."

Later that night, I lay in bed wondering why I had done what I did. I wasn't_totally_ lying to Jackie. Peeta often told me about how busy he was and how he wished had more free time. It would've been rude for me to get Jackie's hopes up, only for Peeta to turn her down later.

I was doing her a favor, really.

Still. Why did I do what I did? Peeta was my best friend. Jackie was a nice, pretty girl. I knew he would've probably liked her.

I didn't want her to be with him, I realized. I didn't want him to be with anyone that wasn't me.

I jerked up. I couldn't possibly think of Peeta that way, could I? He was like my brother. We were just close friends.

Shaken by my strange feelings, I decided to clear my head and just go to sleep. I slept, but fitfully.

As I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed of Peeta. I dreamed of him with me, and most definitely _not_ in a brotherly way.

I dreamed of his full, pink lips pressed against my thinner ones. His probing, curious tongue plundering my mouth and twining with my own. His sighs of adoration and pleasure as I nipped on his bottom lip. His strong hands running through my thick, dark hair. His own blond curls tickling my face.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I didn't want to go to school anymore. I didn't want to see him.

I tried to avoid him at lunch, and made up an excuse of having to finish an assignment, so I could to stay in the library. He seemed disappointed at first, but quickly told me he would see me later.

I sat in the library, head in my hands on the table in front of me in despair. How could I feel this way about him? I couldn't ruin our friendship because of my feelings. I knew I definitely wasn't his type. I didn't want him to leave me forever.

So I decided then to go back to hating him.

* * *

I avoided him for months. I would make up excuses, saying I had to babysit, I had too much homework, I was too tired from practice. He was always disappointed, but never asked any questions. Lying to him became second nature.

I was cold to him, nasty even. I acted like there was nothing I wanted to do less than spend time with him. But every night, I would fantasize about him. I would imagine him on top of me, naked, our hips flush together. His strong, defined arms wrapped around me. His paler skin against my own olive hue. His blond hair mingling with my brown locks against my pillow. His hand touching my face, my neck, my chest, trailing down until it went lower, lower, lower…

I felt sick. I didn't want him to think any different of me. If we had to stop being friends, I wanted it to be on my own terms.

This went on for eight months. It became a routine of sorts: he would text me every day, would try and talk to me in the hallways at school or try and catch me in front of my house as I walked home from school, but I would always brush him off.

He couldn't be mine. Not in the way I wanted.

It was easy to avoid him during summer break. He went on vacation for a month with his family, and I began working ten hour days at the mall to save money for college. Once school started again, I actually had even more valid excuses to not see him. The schoolwork began piling up. I wanted to get into a good college, and between advanced classes and SAT prep, I barely had time for track anymore. I threw myself into schoolwork, spending all of my lunches in the library. He tried to join me more than once, but I always brushed him off, saying I couldn't get distracted and I had _important_ things to do.

His sad eyes haunted me. He tried once to get me to open up, to tell him what he did to make me so angry, to explain why I had been so distant, and I lost it. I yelled at him, saying I had bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings. I had to work, I had too much homework, and sorry, but he wasn't the only thing in my life I had to deal with.

His eyes widened in shock, before he nodded curtly, and said he would leave me alone, his voice thick with hurt.

That was four months ago.

It's the beginning of senior year now. I've not hung out or spent time with Peeta Mellark in almost an entire year. Regardless, I still think about him every day. I sneak into bars with my fake ID, and scope out men who remind me of him. I go home with them and imagine it's him that's touching me all over, it's him whispering in my ear about how gorgeous I am and how much he loves my body, it's him bringing me to a shattering climax. I close my eyes when I'm with them and pretend it's him. I pretend it's us together, wrapped in each other's arms, happy and sated. I pretend that he loves me.

I love him so much I can't stand it.

I'm getting my books from my locker when I see them together in the middle of the hallway. Peeta and a dark-haired girl I haven't seen before. They're holding hands. He tugs gently on her braid and lifts his hand to her cheek. Her grey eyes are shining, and he looks at her like she's the only person in the world. He whispers something in her ear, and she laughs. She's beautiful. He kisses her chastely on the lips, and when he pulls back, her cheeks are flushed.

I want to vomit.

Peeta wraps an arm around her waist, and they head towards me. His eyes lock with mine, and I stop breathing. He begins to approach me, the girl on his arm.

I want the ground to swallow me whole.

"Hi," he says quietly, once he gets to my locker.

"Hi," I say flatly.

"This is my girlfriend, Katniss," he tells me. "She just moved here from three towns over. We met at State this summer, we were in the same enrichment program."

I look at Katniss disdainfully. She regards me curiously, but her gaze is friendly. She looks like me, I realize. Same color eyes, same color skin. We could be cousins.

I nod at her. She offers me a small smile in return.

"This is Gale," Peeta tells Katniss. "He lives next door to me."

"Nice to meet you," she says to me. "I've heard a lot about you."

Peeta looks at me again, eyes filled with remorse. "We used to be really close friends," he says, with an air of finality.

I want to die.

The warning bell rings, and the halls are a mess of students and teachers alike, scurrying along to their classrooms.

"I'll catch up with you later," Peeta tells Katniss. "I want to ask Gale about something."

She nods, pushing herself onto her toes in order to place a light kiss on his lips.

I study my cuticles.

"I'll see you later, Peeta. Nice to meet you, Gale," she tells me, and walks away.

Peeta looks at me and all the hardness on my face melts away. I can't keep pushing him away.

He looks sad, crestfallen. He looks like he's given up.

"Gale," he starts. "I want to be friends again. I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much…its senior year and we'll all be moving away for college after this. I miss you a lot, man. You were my best friend. Please," he begs. "Can we start over?"

His pleading words are all it takes, and I feel all my steely resolve collapse at the foundation. I can't do this to him anymore.

"Okay," I acquiesce.

He looks at me like he hasn't heard me properly. "Okay?" he asks warily.

I nod. "Okay."

His smile is wider than ever.

"I'll see you at lunch then?"

"Yeah," I respond with a small smile of my own. "Bring Katniss. She seems nice," I add, and he beams.

"She's a lot like you, ya know? You'll love her," he tells me, almost giddy. "I'll see you later, then," he tells me, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

I watch him run to class, and I feeling lighter than I have in months.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I'll see you later."

* * *

_Thanks for reading._

_I'm **peetadelrey** on Tumblr._


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